


Perpetual Motion

by vtn



Category: Matthew Good Band
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-27
Updated: 2007-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nothing is strained in this house, especially now that Matt is an accepted part of it, and it's just so typically Dave it makes Matt want to laugh till he can't breathe."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perpetual Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously someone make me stop. I just, it's like crack, I can't help it, I BLAME COURTNEY WALTERS. AND THE LIBERAL MEDIA! AND CANADA!

He keeps coming back and it happens again and again, settles into a comfortable pattern. Usually it's just him and Dave on the floor—too lazy for the bed—like they used to be. Conversations are more interesting when they're fucking at the same time, when Matt talks about Gastown while at the same time working his finger into Dave and when Dave tells stories about 54-50 with his hand wrapped around Matt's cock.

It's like the band except without the arguments and the suppressed anger, except that Matt does have to accept that there's now a third part of the equation. Except he finds that when he can get over the things that remind him of a part of his life he doesn't want to go back to, he likes Tamara. He likes how comfortable she is, how she knows when to talk and when not to and the way she looks in pajamas. Nothing is strained in this house, especially now that Matt is an accepted part of it, and it's just so typically Dave it makes Matt want to laugh till he can't breathe.

He comes back whenever he's done recording, maybe just because it's so much like it used to be that he can't help it. Sometimes he writes on the backs of Business Reply Mail envelopes and watches Dave and Tamara—watches them watch TV, watches them cook dinner, watches them fuck. Sometimes when it's the last one he slides a hand into his pants and after a while he doesn't feel at all guilty.

Tamara likes Matt—it's really funny how she likes him; it's almost like she has a schoolgirl crush on him with the way she gushes about how brilliant his songs are. Matt guesses this is something she had to restrain before for fear Dave would be pissed. She finds him sometimes in a chair and just slides into his lap and into his touch like it's easy. So he starts teaching her, slowly but surely, about how to do the things he likes women to do—to tell him he's a whore and he's shameful and make him beg for things. "It feels good," she tells him one night, "Because I spent most of my life doing whatever people told me."

"It feels good," he tells her in return, "Because after it's all over I remember I don't really deserve it."

He and Dave talk about guitars, talk about hockey, talk about movies. Dave tries to take photos and they're terrible except that they really are Dave—awkward but heartfelt, good-natured but just sometimes lacking depth. And Matt of course loves them all the more for it.

They climb, all three of them, into the big bed sometimes. Sometimes they lie there and talk; sometimes they lie there in silence. Sometimes they all strip down and have sex, all three of them warm and soft and giving. Tamara starts realizing she has an upper hand of sorts and teases them, fingering herself and telling them to kiss and touch each other and talk dirty until all of them are too turned on to concentrate anymore and they fall back onto the comforter.

Matt still worries sometimes. He embarrasses the fuck out of himself the first time he has a panic attack around Tamara, and he's searching for a way out of the room but she just runs a hand through his hair and gives him a pillow to clench instead of his own arms.

"We're going to get ourselves in trouble one of these days," he says to Dave while he tells himself not to throw up. "These things just can't last. Like that thing with friction kicking in."

"Perpetual motion machines?" Dave is still, of course, altogether too good at reading Matt's mind. "Hey, someday death is gonna stop us anyway, so don't worry about it till one of us gets Alzheimer's."

"I just meant, what if Tamara—damn it, you know what I mean."

Dave shrugs. "My dad kind of looks like you. You know, let people ask questions and draw conclusions. It's not like we're Tom and Katie."

"Brad and Angelina. Britney and Kevin."

"Aw, man Matt; are you behind the times or what? Britney dumped K-Fed by text message. Or maybe it was the other way around, whatever. Still, if we have a kid and he's totally the whitest of the white without the slightest hint of squinty eyes, we'll just blame it on aliens or something."

"So I think the Canucks have a chance this year, do you?"

And so on.


End file.
